


hashtag teamweird goals

by undead_vosnian



Category: Spies In Disguise (2019)
Genre: All Platonic - Freeform, Character Study, Drabbles, Gen, I think?, No shipping, Slice of Life, Tags might change, irregular updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22112644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undead_vosnian/pseuds/undead_vosnian
Summary: Drabbles for Walter and Lance through everyday. Most are unconnected, but some might (we’ll see).
Relationships: Killian & Lance Sterling, Marcy Kappel & Lance Sterling, Walter Beckett & Killian, Walter Beckett & Lance Sterling
Comments: 53
Kudos: 259





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Are there enough Lance and Walter content out there? No.
> 
> Am I going to try to rectify that? Yes.
> 
> Will I succeed? I honestly have no idea :P 
> 
> Welcome to this series of unconnected Walter and Lance drabbles! I’m a true sucker for their chemistry, and there’s not enough content out there, so I’m going to try to change that with this series. I have no idea if there’s going to be a direction with this yet, but I do hope you’ll like it!

1.

“Hey kid, you have a moment?”

Walter barely glanced up from the dripping burette in front of him as he registered his partner/maybe-father-figure’s voice. He was so close to getting the results for his invisibility juice, he could almost smell it! He just needed to-

A familiar hand closed upon his shoulder. “Hey kid, you listening? I need to-

“Hmm?” Walter blinked, mind still occupied on his invention even as he babbled, “Oh, yeah dad, one moment?” Just one more drop of the phosphoric acid to gain the perfect titration results and he’d get it, and- 

-wait-

-why was everyone suddenly so quiet?

Walter shook himself, straightening and closing the burette tap as he came back to himself, casting a bewildered glance from the shell-shocked and oddly silent section of the gadget’s lab to Lance’s perfectly wide-eyed stare to the hand still resting on his shoulder. “What?” The young adult asked curiously, reaching for a mug of coffee (when had that gotten there?). “Lance? You okay? Why’s everyone staring at us?”

Lance startled, coughed and retracted his hand, all while nodding and backtracking towards the door near Walter’s station. “Yeah,” the spy muttered, trying to conceal the odd sensation inside his chest at what Walter just called him from showing on his face, “Imma just, y’know, go and check on Jeff. You continue working on your sciency stuff, yeah?.” He cast a quick grin to a confused and bewildered boy before him before shutting the door. 

(Bonus)

Lance cast a quick glance around the corridor to make sure that he was alone, before allowing himself to smile like an absolute buffoon as he made his way to the roof of the headquarters to check on the three residing pigeons to shower them with gluten-free breadcrumbs. 

He had just wanted to give the kid something to keep him awake for a while longer, and to maybe surprise the lab staff that he can be ‘caring’ if he had so wished to be, but maybe being called ‘dad’ was just an added surprise for him. 

Lance found that he didn’t really mind it. After all, he was getting (just slightly) annoyed by the betting pools opening up throughout the agency wondering when Walter would slip up anyways.

2.

“Any more questions?”

Walter had a feeling they were going to be booted out the car if either he or Lance had agreed. And the brunette wouldn’t have really minded, not much anyways (he’d fallen down 45,000 feet, being thrown out of a vehicle should be relatively nothing in comparison). But there was a question burning in his mind, and Walter really needed to have it answered as soon as possible. And so, like the rule abider he was, his hand shot up like a grade schooler. “Um, me!” Walter called out, poking out from Lance’s side. “Ma’am,” he added respectfully.

Director Jenkins lifted a brow. “And what is it?”

Walter blinked, clearing his throat. “My, uh, house,” He said, wringing his hands. “Y’know, the one you tore down to look for Lance? Am I gonna get it back?”

A stunned, awkward silence settled as the three H.T.U.V agents looked at each other, and Walter winced as he caught sight of Marci’s wide-eyed, guilty expression. He knew he shouldn’t have asked -- he just accidentally soured a supposed-cheery atmosphere. “I-I mean,” Walter backtracked hastily, wanting the lightness excitement back into the car., “It’s fine, I can, um, bunk at my aunt’s! Or something! I’m sorry for asking, I thought-”

“You don’t have an aunt, “Lance interjected suddenly, casting a glance at the two female agents. 

Walter balked. “How did you-?!”

“We will refurbish your home,” Director Jenkins cut in smoothly before Walter finished his question. “I do apologise on behalf of the agency for ruining your house. The rebuilding might take a while, however,” She leaned forward, peering at Walter. “Do you have anywhere to stay till then?”

Walter stalled. “Um…”

“The kid can stay with me,” Lance threw in suddenly, glancing at the director. “For the time period, while you rebuild his house.” 

Walter’s eyes widened at the statement. Oh god, he definitely did  _ not  _ mean to want to trouble others when he had asked this question. “No, nonono!” He shook his head, holding out his hands. “Lance, it’s fine, I really don’t wanna trouble you!” Walter looked at the director shrugging and leaning back into his seat. “I can find another place, I guess. It’s not hard.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Kid. You earn enough each month just to pay taxes and bills, and the last time I checked, you’re still officially fired. How’re you even gonna afford to pay rent, let alone find an entirely new place to live?” 

Walter opened his mouth to argue, but the look that the spy gave him left no room for argument. 

“Then it’s settled then,” Director Jenkins leaned back into her chair. “We’ll send you back to Agent Sterling’s residence now.”

Walter fell back onto his seat in resignation.

The monitor shut off as Director Jenkins signed off, and all three occupants were left sitting in awkward silence. Walter squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, wondering why he had even opened his mouth in the first place. 

Marci was the first to break the silence.

“Look, Walter.” The internal affairs officer began hesitantly. “I- I’m sorry. For destroying your house. I admit it was quite…” Marci winced, “...extreme, and unneeded. And for destroying your place of residence, I am truly sorry.” She looked at Walter earnestly. “Can you forgive me?”  
  


Walter, dumbfounded by the turn of events, just nodded dumbly, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I-ah,” the brunette stuttered intelligently. “I, yeah. I do.” A pause. “But you were just doing your job, and I don’t blame you Marci! Truly, it’s fine!” The young man smiled at the lady. “I just wanted to know the future of my house.”

Marci leaned into her backrest, looking at Lance in disbelief. “You’re right, Sterling,” she said, shaking her head, “that kid forgives  _ way  _ too easily. If someone destroyed my house, I’d be sueing them till next year!”

Lance grinned, clapping a hand onto Walter’s shoulder as the latter spluttered. “If anyone destroyed your house you’d probably shoot them and hide the body.” 

Marci shrugged. “You never know.”

Both agents ignored Walter’s appalled face.

There was a brief silence, more comfortable than the last, before something else occurred to Lance. 

“You gave such an eloquent and touching apology to Wilson, and gave me a, what, ‘an apology’ as an apology?” The spy suddenly asked, looking at Marci, offended, as he crossed his arms. “Marci Carpell, are you playing favourites?”

Marci scoffed, leaning back and tilting her head up to look at Lance better. “Only because you’re my least,” she countered, “And Walter is a sweetheart, unlike you, Sterling.”

Lance shook his head in disbelief, mock-scowling at the agent. “Can you believe it?” He demanded to Walter, who was openly smiling at the banter. When the brunette said nothing and just shook his head, he turned back to Marci, “I’m your superior, Carpell, and you better watch your words.”

“Actually I’m your superior, Sterling,” Marci countered sweetly. “Please watch your tone around your superior,  _ subordinate _ .”

“I-!”

“We have arrived!” Ears cut off loudly from the passenger’s seat, voice crackling through the speaker, effectively cutting off all arguments. Walter bounced up from his seat, and after casting Marci a quick smile, slid off the compartment van. “Really,” he was saying as he hopped off the van, “I really didn’t know Lance even had a home, I thought he lived in the agency! I gotta see what it looks like and - ” 

All occupants heard the distinct “WHOAAAAA” from the brunette not long after, and Lance grinned, shaking his head. “That’s my cue to go.” He said, getting up and jumping off. “Good day, Marci.” He pointed a finger gun at the internal affairs agent. “See you soon.”

“Lance, wait!” Marci called.

“Yeah?” The door opened, and the agent’s head poked out from behind it.

Marci gestured to the walls of the van. “You care for the kid, don’t you?” She asked softly. Lance was silent for a moment. 

“I - yeah. Yeah. I do. A lot.”

A nod. “Take care of him. Now scram from my car!”

As she caught sight of Lance flipping the bird, Marci grinned and closed the doors of the van before signalling to Ears to drive off. 

3.

“Hey kid, I have a question.”

Walter looked up from his pistachio ice cream to look quizzically at Lance, who was looking at him with an intent expression. The twenty year old licked the creamy green stuff off the corners of his mouth, enjoying the slight wince his partner made at the sight, before reluctantly pulling away from his treat to face the H.T.U.V agent more clearly. 

“Yeah?”

Lance leaned back in his seat. “That time where I said I fired you. Did you really believe that?”

Walter looked puzzled. “Whaddya mean?”

“The elevator, when you were talking about your biology concealing tech.” Lance looked at the brunette beside him. “I said I fired you. Remember?”

Walter blinked, realisation dawning on his face. “I-ohhhhhh, yeah, that! I - wait,” he narrowed his eyes at Lance. “Firstly, it’s bio _ dynamic _ concealment. And secondly,” Walter took a large bite of ice cream. “Why’re you bringin’ this up now? You’re not...planning on firing me for the fourth time are you??” At this the young adult’s voice tuned up a pitch. “Was it Turkey?? Oh gosh, it was  _ totally  _ the Province infiltration amirite? Or-or, oh god, you’re definitely still pissed at our Indonesia screwup aren’t you? I’m so, so, SO sorry!” Walter looked pleadingly at an increasingly-bewildered Lance, who was leaning away from the brunette’s erratically waving hands and the green ice cream cone in his hand. 

“Woah, kid-”

Walter was almost on the verge of pacing now. “Is it because of Indonesia? It HAS to be because of Indonesia. I’m really sorry Lance, I had no idea that-”

“Kid - listen-”

“I didn't mean to drop it! I really didn’t!” He shook his head empathetically. “I promise!”

“Walter! Listen to me!” Lance snapped, irritation present briefly in his voice. The person in question closed his mouth suddenly with a squeak, taking a huge bite out of his melting pistachio ice cream as he waited for the spy to speak. 

Lance sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You do know I technically have no say as to whether you could be fired from the agency, right?” He asked slowly, glancing down at Walter. “That is up to the board of supervisors for the agency’s lab scientists to decide.”

Walter’s expression was so confused Lance might have laughed under different circumstances. “I-wha-” the brunette blinked rapidly, as if he was receiving the holy grail itself. “Fire - you - me, supervisors I…”

“I mean sure, I could influence their thoughts and whatever and make it slightly prejudiced,” Lance continued, fiddling with his fingers. “But I myself have no say over this matter. You should know that, right Walter?”

There was a full minute of silence as Walter silently processed the information. Lance hoped he didn’t somehow break the kid. 

“...I feel really dumb now.”

Lance looked down at Walter, who was just staring at his melting ice cream. “Pardon?”

Walter threw up his hands, barely noticing the sticky cream dripping onto his hand. “I mean, I should know about it, and I do! But it's just, sometimes you’re just so- you- it’s like,  _ you _ ...y’know? ‘Specially in the past. I mean, I, I just…” He sighed, looking at the spy and shrugged. “You’re just,  _ you _ , and every single time, it’s like, I just  _ feel _ that you can do anything in the agency. It didn’t occur to me that a spy could not dictate whether you got to work or not.  _ Lance Sterling  _ told me I was fired.” Walter avoided the other man’s gaze and licked his half melted ice cream. “How  _ can’t  _ I believe it?”

Lance stared at Walter, who suddenly looked extremely self conscious as he gnawed furiously at his treat without making eye contact with. The spy knew that he was considered extremely untouchable and almost ‘god-like’ in the agency, and he had been trying his best to rectify it without damaging his reputation, but Lance was once-again reminded of how he constantly seemed intimidating to some in the agency, especially the newer and younger employees. He’d never considered himself to have ever been an asshole, but this was one of the times where he’d really felt close to one. He found that he did not like it. Not really. 

The silence was stretching, and Walter was still avoiding looking in Lance’s direction. The super spy sighed softly, shaking his head and, after a slight internal debate, carefully placed his hand on Walter’s shoulder. “Hey, Walter,” he murmured, shaking the young adult slightly. “Listen, man, I...there really isn’t a justification for however I acted in the past, before...before. I mean, I would say that it was just me being the amazing spy I am, but it’s not right. It’s still not right. And I’m sorry,” the word still felt slightly foreign on his tongue as he said it, but it was Walter and Lance knew he had caused the kid a great deal of headaches in the short span of just four days, he  _ needed  _ to apologise, “for that brief interaction that we had.” Lance removed his hand, opting to fiddle his fingers again. “Yeah. I am. Sorry, as in. I’m sorry.”

Walter looked at Lance then, and then the brunette broke into one of the most genuine smiles the spy had ever seen. He started at the amount of happiness and unmounted joy on Walter’s face as the kid beamed happily, ice cream forgotten and dripping onto his hand. Seriously, even up until to date, Lance was continuosly impressed by the brunette’s ability to cwitch between two contrasting emotions seamlessly in the matter of a second. “I-wow,” Walter grinned. “Lance Sterling, greatest spy, apologising to ole’ Walter Beckett for two times in a row!” The young adult’s smile became lopsided and cheekier as he crossed his arms. “What-ever did I do to deserve this~!” 

“Oh, don’t read into it,” Lance grumbled, rolling his eyes skywards. “You saved my butt in Turkey. I’m just returning the favour in terms of an apology. You’re welcome.” 

The duo sat there on their bench a while longer, and when Walter turned to Lance and said, “For the record though, thank you,” Lance figured that it wasn’t the worst way to spend his free afternoon pigeon-gazing with a kid eleven years his junior. 

4.

“I’m telling you,” Walter exclaimed, dragging a really unimpressed spy behind him, “that there is nothing! Nothing, I tell you! More amazing than feeding pigeons in a wide, open space!” As if to emphasise his point, the boy waved his lanky arms dramatically around Charing Cross, gesticulating to Trafalgar Square just somewhere ahead.

Lance grimaced. “Look, man, I’ve told you about my bird limits - ”

“Nuh-uh!” Walter shook his head, dragging Lance further towards their intended destination. “You need to learn how to  _ flock together  _ to be a true pigeon!”

Lance shot him an affronted look. “I have a flock!”

Walter shrugged. “C’mon! This’ll be ah-mazing!”

The duo had been in London to finish up a mission consisting of infiltration of one of the world’s ‘most hidden’ terrorist agencies to-date to retrieve their weapons catalogue stored in the format of a thumbdrive. It turned out to be all talk and little jazz in the end, and it was not long before the drive was safely on a H.T.U.V mission drone being sent back to D.C as they spoke. Some agents took care of the rogues, and now being mission-free  _ and _ bored out his mind, Walter had decided that it was the best time to go pigeon feeding with his partner. 

_ “I still think you have issues, kid,” Lance had muttured as Walter exited the pet shop with packets of dove pellets. _

_ “ _ I  _ didn’t eat food off the floor,” the latter grinned, ducking below the former’s swipe.  _

_ “I miss the Walter who’d just agree with everything I said,” Lance retorted, glaring half-heartedly at the brunette. _

“Birds. Are. Amazing.” Walter declared, stroking the pigeon that just landed on his shoulder gently as he tossed her some pellets. She cooed and caught them in midair happily, ruffling her feathers and butting against the young man’s hair.

“They’re definitely not what I thought them to be.” Lance said, throwing a few pellets to the ground near him, watching as a few stray birds eagerly rushed at the food, feathers flying. “Look at them go!”

Walter looked at the spy curiously. The bird on his shoulder also seemed to tilt her head towards him, as if asking,  _ what did you think about us? _

“What did you think birds to be?” Walter asked, absently stroking the pigeon’s feathers. “They’re amazing, beautiful and adorable creatures! And they’re so calming to be around, y’know? I could spend  _ hours  _ watching them!”

Lance shrugged, gazing at the flocks of birds around him. “Rats with wings,” he replied honestly. “I’ve never really liked birds all that much, especially pigeons. Thought they pooped everywhere, got onto people’s property and were too much in one place.” He noticed Walter’s expression and quickly went on. “BUT. I’ve seen that they’re definitely more than that, that’s for sure. Like I said, kid, I’ve changed my views on a lotta things. Birds are one of them.”

Walter looked curious. “Even the cloaca?”

Lance grimaced, memories of the confusion and disgust of discovering that wretched thing in the airplane toilet flooding his mind. But he had to admit, he was at least able to finally understand why pigeons pooped all the time at least. That amounted to something. “Even the cloaca.”

As if to emphasise his point, the spy suddenly felt something drop on his head. A glance at Walter’s slack-jawed face only confirmed his suspicion, and Lance groaned, covering his face with the hand not holding onto the packet of pellets. “I take that back. I take that back so hard. I hate cloacas.”

Walter grinned. “That’s a sign of good fortune!”

“Shut up!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update consists of the thoughts of Walter and Lance through some of my favourite scenes in the film -- the sub scene and the one where Lance shot Walter to send him back. I know the thought processes aren't as deep as they could be and I really do apologise for it if it isn't to your liking. There's also a fun one containing Lance, Walter and Marcy, and I have officially come to the conclusion that Lance and Marcy's dynamic is something that is a close second or third to Walter and Lance's dynamic. No. 8 was my first attempt at a little bit of fluff and it ended up getting outta hand. I'm not really sure if I liked the end product of it? But I'll just put it out there for you to judge. Hope you enjoy this update!

5.

“Oh man! Oh man that was awesome! That was- that’s beyond insane guys, that was AWESOME-”

Walter’s excited rambling rolled over Lance’s pigeon ears as he stared at the red, blinking dot on the navigation system of his submarine. The adrenaline (or what felt like adrenaline; he had no idea whether pigeons could even produce adrenaline) of Venice was still thrumming in his blood. Thanks to Walter’s quick thinking, they had managed to get away with minimal injuries.

Usually when this happened, the spy would pat himself on the back, and just let it be. 

But this was not usually.

_ I could have lost him,  _ was the only thought buzzing through Lance’s head, transfixed by the moving red dot on the screen, whatever it was. He could have lost Walter. The reality of the situation seemed surreal, and the spy could only recall with morbid vividness at how ready Robo-hand was ready to just  _ burn and torture  _ the kid for the data base just to lure him out of hiding. Lance remembered Walter’s pleading tone as he called out his name, and the other’s mocking one that sounded so familiar yet foreign. The scene had almost seemed like a complete mirror of agent Jackson in Peru-

_ No,  _ the human-turned-pigeon told himself firmly.  _ I’m not going down that memory lane. Not again. _

But the reality of Walter’s wellbeing was much more than a memory. It almost happened. It  _ would have happened  _ had Lovey not managed to awaken him in time. He’d actually almost...killed the kid due to his own inaction. 

_ It’s funny how I almost forgot the reason why I flew solo. _

Lance looked at Walter through the reflection of the glass. He saw innocence, and potential, and the life within the kid. The odd protectiveness that had risen in his heart ever since Mexico pulsed at the image, and he wondered when had the kid grown so much on him.

“-and you were like ‘nooooo!!” and I was like, ‘BREAD CRUMBS!’ and it was soooo awesome!” Walter was still rambling excitedly, the rush of the day’s events getting the brunette high as he dramatically retold his actions to the three pigeons listening rapt with attention.

Walter did not deserve to have his life put on the line like that. And the database was still lost and-

The database!

A renewed sense of resignation filled the spy on top of his musings. “We still lost the database,” Lance replied stiffly, looking back briefly at scientist’s flushed face and sparkling eyes. He felt a pang through his heart at the sight again. 

He had almost lost Walter that day. He  _ did  _ lose the database. Lance suddenly felt like the worst spy H.T.U.V had ever known. The uncertainty of the agency’s lives and this kid’s life weighed on him like lead, and he only barely registered the kid’s question.

“Or did he?” Walter’s voice cut across Lance’s thoughts abruptly. The bird-turned-human stilled.

“Oooor did he?” Walter drawled out again, grinning stupidly as he cast a strange look to Lance. “Oooooooooor did he?” 

The bird rolled his eyes, turning to face him more fully. “I feel like you want me to say ‘what’re you talking about’.” He remarked dryly, pushing his inner musings aside. 

Walter’s eyes brimmed with unbridled pride as he announced that he had placed a tracker on Robo-hand. 

Lance stilled. “Wait,” the spy began, staring unbelievably at the seemingly-innocuous red dot he had been previously gazing at. “That’s him? That’s Robo-hand?!” 

“Yep.” And god, did the kid deserve to look that smug. The relief that the people of H.T.U.V could be safe temporarily outweighed Lance’s worry for Walter, and the spy laughed, the words slipping right out of his mouth. “Yes!” He grinned, waving his wings around as if they were his arms. “Yes, my man! There is no way I have done it without you, Walter!”

It was now Walter’s turn to still, as he stared at Lance like he’d grown a second pigeon head. “What?”

Lance blinked as he came back to himself from his relief. “What?”

“What’d you say?”

The bird stalled as he tried recalling the words he had exclaimed in the rush of the moment. “I think I said-” 

“You said you couldn’t have done it without me!” And then Walter was hugging him tightly, and Lance could  _ feel  _ the kid’s smile and he was reminded yet again of how he almost lost this bright enthusiasm just a few hours ago. And it was because Walter had...been his  _ partner _ . He had been a liability on field. 

_ No _ , Lance decided silently,  _ I could not afford to rely on Walter as much as I did in Venice _ . That almost cost him his life, and it would be too selfish of him, and too dangerous for Walter. He had to keep the brunette out of the grasp of danger. Out of dangerous people, out of the likes of  _ Robo-hand.  _ The spy made his decision in a split second.

_ As soon as I get un-birded, I am sending the kid home. No more of this nonsense.  _ It didn’t matter that Lance had unwittingly grown used to the presence of Walter’s fumblings beside him, or of Lovey flirting with him, or even of Jeff’s strangely endearing attempts to imitate him and Crazy’s weird ability of swallowing anything under the sky. It didn’t matter that a part of Lance did want to have a partner again. All that mattered was keeping Walter safe. 

After all, there was a reason why Lance flew solo.

  
  
  


6.

“Another mission well done,” Lance grinned, clapping a broadly-grinning Walter on the back as they entered the debrief room of H.T.U.V. “Man, you are really good at this espionage stuff, kid. Makes me wonder why you didn’t take up a second job before this.”

“It was good,” Marcy admitted from the duo’s left, the internal-affairs-turned-branch-supervisor was currently pouring over the information present in the agents’ latest target - a highly detailed personal report on Freestyle, the latest ring leader of a sabotage group planning planning on hijacking an important world summit in a few months. “There was goo, and glitter, and rainbows...nothing too dramatic. And it was fast. Like, three days kinda fast for a retrieval mission.” She pushed the folder away, shaking her head at both agents. “Good job.”

“Thanks!” Walter, forever bursting with enthusiasm and politeness, chirped proudly.

“Couldn’t have done it without my man Walter,” Lance replied, leaning back into his chair as he idly played with a pen. 

“I  _ was _ talking to Walter, not you, Sterling.” Marcy stated, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, screw off Carpell.” Lance grumbled, flipping the pen and catching it in another hand. “You secretly wish you had half of my amazing attention on you, but you don’t. Boo hoo.”

“Can you believe the nerve of this guy?” Marcy complained to Walter, shaking her head in annoyance. “Ego the size of his overgrown head. How’d you even stand him?”

Walter shrugged. “Lance is a really sweet guy once you actually know him, y’know,” he grinned, casting the spy a cheerful glance. “You know, once he got me a juice box because he thought I was feeling down, even though I was just sleepy, though the sugar made me awake, so, thanks!” The young man directed the last bit to Lance, who just rolled his eyes. “And another time he actually  _ let _ me take credit for something we both did together! In Venice! It was amazing!” The brunette smiled, turning to look between Lance and Marcy. “So, yeah, he’s actually a great partner. He’s even warmed up to Lovey, and lets her preen him whenever she wants to now! You should see it, it’s honestly adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance cut in hurriedly before Walter could single-handedly ruin his reputation. “We’ve heard enough, yeah?” He declared, glaring fiercely at Walter who was grinning unashamedly even as Marcy let out a high-pitched cackle. “No more pigeon stories, you hear me? Marcy Carpell, you heard nothing.” Lance ground out, giving the wheezing agent a stinkeye. 

“Lance Sterling, greatest spy in the world, being  _ preened _ ?! Oh, this I  _ got  _ to see sometime,” Marcy grinned wickedly, leaning forward to peer at the spy. “And probably let the director in the loop as well.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

Marcy looked curiously to Walter. “What other things does he do when he’s a bird?” She asked casually, ignoring the way the spy in question currently incinerated her soul with his death glares. 

Walter shrugged. “We-e-ell,” he uttered thoughtfully, “You know Jeff? He’s a  _ major  _ Lance fan. Copies everything he does! So there’s this one time where Lance accidentally p-” The brunette was cut off sharply as Lance shoved a hand onto his mouth, cutting off whatever Walter was to say. “You promised to say  _ nothing _ , about that incident,” Lance warned, scowling at Walter who was trying to no avail to remove the spy’s hand from his mouth.

“Oh, c’mon,” Marcy frowned unhappily. “What did Lance do??”

“No more. Stories. About me!” The agent ground out irritably. “Aren’t we supposed to be debriefing??”

“Aww, I thought we were having a great time! And I thought you loved stories about yourself!” Marcy mock-whined, placing a hand over her heart. “I just wanna know about what Pigeon Lance did.”

“Neve-AH! Boy, you did  _ not  _ just lick my hand.” Lance grimaced in disgust as he jerked his hand away from a smug Walter. “That’s  _ so  _ unhygienic, kid.”

“You were the one who put your hand on my mouth,” the brunette replied easily. “I had every right to do it.”

“What, is the greatest spy in the world afraid of a little  _ water _ ?” Marcy cooed. 

“It’s  _ dirty  _ water!”

Walter shrugged. “It’s technically just water with amylase, so, no.”

Lance groaned. “Can we just, I don’t know, finish this stupid debrief? I really cannot endure this without coffee.”

“Oh. if you insist.” Marci sighed, shaking her head. “What a killjoy. Anyways,” the agent cleared her throat. “Target retrieved, target verified as accurate and will be transferred to the data lab to be further processed. Good job, agents, you’ve done H.T.U.V proud and until our next mission, goodbye.” She spread her arms, cocking her head. “Done.” 

“Thanks!” Walter smiled enthusiastically. “It was amazing being able to finally test out Confetti-Away. Was always afraid the streamers would entangle each other instead of our opponents, y’know?” He frowned then, pulling the huge metalliv version of a party popper out of his mobile lab and glancing at its glinting coat. “Maybe it’s too big, it did move kiiinda slow and wasn’t as aerodynamic as it could be…”

“You did great, kid,” Lance asserted, once again patting Walter on his back. 

“Thanks, dad,” Walter replied without thinking, head still caught up in his calculations. “If I could just...why’re you staring at me like that?”

Marcy frowned. “Did you just...call Lance ‘dad’?!”

Walter tilted his head uncomprehendingly. He glanced questionably at Lance, who was standing stock still, hand frozen upon Walter’s shoulder. “No? I said thanks  _ Lance _ . Anyways, I gotta ghost, I found the perfect remeasurements for it! Bye!” The scientist threw a peace with his unoccupied hand before all but flouncing out the room in a flurry of messy brown hair. 

There was a brief silence as both agents just processed whatever that had happened in the past minute. 

“He really just called you dad,” Marcy said in disbelief. 

“Apparently.” Lance replied. More silence, and then,

“So what did Jeff learn from you?”

“I really hate you, Carpell.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


7.

_ He shot me. _

Bleary eyes gazed drowsily out from the glass dome of the submarine and into the murky ocean water.  _ Lance’s  _ submarine. Lance, who had just shot a drowse dart in the neck. Lance shot him in the neck. Why did Lance shoot him in the neck?

Some of Walter’s insecurities came back then, wondering if it was truly because he was expendable, and only in that very location at the moment because Lance only wanted him to create the antidote. Maybe the spy had been really using him?

But the brunette knew for a fact that it wasn’t true. 

The effects of the dart don’t usually last quite long, and Walter could already feel his head clearing the haze a little. The small amount of clarity allowed Walter to truly think, and ponder why Lance has decided that he couldn’t be there, apprehending Robo-hand with him. He recalled Lance’s resoluteness of sending him home, of the spy’s heavy face as he set the coordinates back to the States on the submarine. 

_ I can’t lose anymore good people _ , Lance had said.

Lance, who let Walter have his high after his unexpected performance in Venice. Who had openly admitted that he did, in fact, need Walter’s help. Who had allowed Walter to hug him when he’d just been pecking his hand whenever he tried to even touch the bird just two days prior. Maybe Lance had only brought Walter on the mission to change him back, but Walter understood that the thought had changed. 

So why did he shoot him?

Some old memory surfaced, when Walter had been first employed by H.T.U.V. He’d heard the gossip floating around the gadget’s lab, bits and pieces about ‘the first person to not have a partner in the agency’ and all that jazz. It had never occurred to him that the person was Lance Sterling, not had it ever crossed his mind that he would one day change it. 

Walter could feel his limbs now, and he shifted experimentally, and was relieved to be able to flex his fingers. He turned his head slightly, catching sight of his three pigeon friends looking between Walter and the submarine’s console board with an expectant glint in their eyes. 

Everyone thought Lance worked alone because of his ego and how he felt himself to be too good for a partner. Walter refused to admit that he had thought so for a short period of time. Maybe he really did think so. After all Lance had dismissed his ideology so readily and called his inventions ‘weird’. Like all the others whom Walter had ever crossed paths with. Everyone else.

_ I couldn’t lose anymore good people,  _ Lance had said. It rang around Walter’s mind as the brunette tried to get his torso to move. 

The spy considered him a...good person. That he might lose him. Did that mean that Lance was afraid to lose him? A brief flash of metal glinting in the morning sun, white hot plasma beams and uncontrollable fear went through his mind, and Walter winced. He had almost died by the hands Robo-hand. The weight of the sentence that the young man had been trying to avoid thinking of the entire night caused his brain to stutter. He could have died. Because he was... _ helping _ ...Lance.

_ Lance wanted to keep me safe _ , was the unheard realisation as Walter finally gained control of his upper body. He did not want a repeat of whatever happened in Venice, and had presumably wanted to send the brunette back to the States because  _ he cared about him and his well-being _ .

A brief pang of guilt flashed through Walter’s mind as he thought of whatever he was about to do. It was going to go against the spy’s wishes to keep him safe, and the severity of it almost made Walter change his mind. Almost.

With delayed reflexes Walter managed to push himself upwards from the chair he was leaning on, and blearily blinked at the coordinates set for D.C. The brunette’s mind slowly caught up as he recalled the island’s coordinates from the sub’s previous journey, and slowly typed it in with uncoordinated fingers. His head and stomach protested against the nauseating jerk and turn of the submarine as it changed course. From somewhere behind him, Lovey let out an approving trill.

_ Sorry Lance _ , Walter thought as he watched the waves around him with muted interest.  _ But I’ll always have your back, even if it means diving right into danger alongside with you.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


8.

The first time Walter hugged Lance with the latter reciprocating was during a mission, and they were in a flaming building. The agents had been pressed for time to evacuate the premises before they became toast, and both had been scrambling to grab onto anything that could get them out of danger, when a huge wall of iron had separated the two partners, trapping Walter in a small corner with the smoke and flames as Lance had shouted his name from the other side. The older spy had proceeded to somehow hack the (half damaged) electrical system in the building while simultaneously managing to direct backup to extinguish the flames, and when Walter finally,  _ finally  _ saw the wretched wall lifting, he had all but stumbled over to where Lance was worriedly rushing over to him and just fell into an embrace with the other spy as the other checked him over for injuries. 

That was the first time. The first of the subsequent many times that Lance willingly returned Walter’s impromptu hugs.

Walter knew he was a hugger. He’d even admitted it to Robo-hand, and that was something. He loved hugs, loved feeling the weight of another person’s arms around him and just being encompassed in a warm, non-inflatable hug. Hug attacks had always been Walter’s greatest weakness, and while people tended to stray away from him due to his many oddities, avoiding his hugs that could come at any point in time was by far the main reason for the avoidance. After all, no one liked being hugged by an overenthusiastic weirdo. So Walter decided to control his urges to randomly hug people to the best of his ability.

Well, at least until Lance came along. Which gave the brunette a great outlet to unleash his hugs on. 

Like the one time where Lance reached out to fist bump Walter after they had managed to sabotage a group of armed terrorists (with nothing but  _ bubblegum _ , Walter was still immensely proud of his Gummy Blower), to which the latter just swiftly sidestepped the offered fist, opting to instead throw his arms around his partner, much to the latter’s surprise. Walter considered it a win as he felt hands settle awkwardly onto his shoulders and squeezing lightly, and the brunette had grinned during the entire trip back to the States. 

Or the other time when Lance offered Walter coffee after the success of his first custom-made glue gun that was strong enough to glue a wooden block onto the wall and still put a ton of books on the block, and Walter just surprised the spy again by throwing himself at Lance, laughing as he wrapped his arms tightly around the other’s frame and buzzing at his success. Lance had only stilled this time, chuckling, before laying an arm around Walter’s shoulder and passing the scientist his coffee after he made grabby-hands for it, face still pressed against Lance’s frame. 

  
  


Another time, when the director had thanked Walter for constantly inventing amazing, innovative gadgets, and Lance for contributing a lot to the agency’s new branch, Walter had grinned, and then pulled  _ both  _ his partner and director into a hug, much to the former’s amusement and the latter’s disgruntled surprise. That was the only time Walter managed to catch Director Joy off-guard. Lance still teases his superior about it up until this day.

So yes, Walter loved hugs, and he hoped that hugs loved him as much as he did them.

The first time  _ Walter  _ had been hugged was also on a mission, and he had been falling from about a hundred storeys up. His jetpack had failed on his descent, leaving the brunette to freefall through the air. His only thought of ‘I should really stop falling from ridiculous heights’ did nothing to make the experience less frightening and surreal. He’d only been rescued when Lance, who had somehow gotten hold of the brunette’s grappling pen, as well as three pigeons and a huge mass of safety blankets, intervened and kept Walter from going ‘splat’. The spy had worriedly and frantically looked over Walter for any possible injuries, before (much to the surprise of Walter) pulling him into a tight, relieved hug and breathing out a harsh breath meant as a laugh. Lance had murmured that Walter really needed to stop falling out of the sky, and the brunette had only managed to nod mutely over the pleasant shock of the fact  _ Agent Lance Sterling had hugged him _ . 

That was the only time when Lance had willingly embraced Walter. It was an amazing feeling,  _ familiar _ , even, and made Walter determined to squeeze more hugs out of the agent. After all, they had been building up a unique dynamic and were really starting to get comfortable with each other, Lance more than Walter as the brunette took that one precious hug as a confirmation that Lance was indeed integrating seamlessly with Walter. 

Which only made whatever Walter wanted to do ten times more difficult as he bit his lip, staring nervously at the spy who was lazily brewing coffee in the duo’s (temporarily) shared house. The brunette swallowed, mind racing with all the possible reactions Lance might use when he saw what was in his hand. He did not want to ruin whatever they had built up, but Walter really needed to get it out of his mind. He slowly cycled a breath through his nose, before stepping into the kitchen. “Lance?”

The spy perked. “Oh, hey, kid,” he greeted, setting the coffee aside. “What’s up?”

Walter bit his lip. He was  _ so  _ going to get fired for this it wasn’t even funny. 

Lance frowned. “Walter? You okay?”

_ It was now or never.  _ And Walter quickly tossed the letter in his hand over to Lance, squeaking out a rapid ‘hereyougopleasedon’tthinki’mweird’ before promptly going to the other side of the table and using it as a shield in case all goes wrong.

There was a long pause as Lance scanned through the letter, and with every passing minute of silence, Walter’s stress levels spiked and he bit his lip nervously, wringing his hands on the hem of his shirt. He chanced a glance at the spy’s furrowed brows, and swallowed again as the latter slowly placed the card on the table, fixing him with a strange stare. 

_ He’s going to fire me _ , Walter thought belatedly.

“Walter,” Lance began slowly, incredulously, “do you...do you see me as a father figure?”

Walter shrugged uncomfortably, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “I mean...I’ve never had a dad, and you care about me, and you’re always looking out for me and - did I mention you care about me? So, yeah, I thought…” The brunette trailed off, biting his lip at the strange expression on the spy. Anxiety coursed through the young man as Lance didn’t reply, and he burst out, “I-I mean it’s fine if you don’t! I didn’t mean to make things awkward and I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable!” Walter knew it hadn’t been a good idea, and he didn’t know why he had even attempted this silly thing anyways. “I could always stop bothering you? Don’t fire me? Or maybe - ah!”

Walter cut himself off as his vision was suddenly overtaken by the dark grey of Lance’s turtleneck sweater, accompanied by the familiar feeling of two arms draping across his back. It took the brunette a second to realise that, yes, Lance was in fact hugging him again, and no, he had not been fired again. It was then that his senses caught up to him, and Walter’s mind prompted him to return the embrace, albeit hesitantly.

“You really see me as a father figure, kid?” Lance asked softly after a beat of silence, slowly pulling away to look at the younger man. “Even with the whole ...‘I’m the greatest spy and no-one could ever beat me’ mentality from when we first met?”

Walter smiled. “Yeah,” the brunette replied honestly. “You’re a good man, Lance. And I look up to you. A lot. Sometimes more than not I call you ‘dad’ in my head unconsciously and it’s just, y’know. Natural.” 

Lance shook his head, smiling in disbelief as Walter gathered enough of his wits to pull him into a hug again. The spy patted the latter on the back gently, and Walter could not help himself but to grin.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter three. I...have mixed feelings about this chapter, to be honest, but oh wells. The one I really had issue with was the 12th one, and I still don't know whether I like it or not. If yall dislike it, and if there are enough complaints about it, I’ll take it down and rewrite it. But I promise that the quality for future drabbles will be better for you guys! And in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I really tried to make this into slices of life.

9.

Busy days weren’t uncommon for spies. They’re certainly unheard of, but the days when the paperwork just piles up until they were spilling over do happen from time to time, and when that happens, nobody was exempted from the impact of a heavy load of administrative work falling onto their heads. Thus came about ‘Paperwork Day’, when the entirety of H.T.U.V would just be close to silent, with everyone trying to meet the demand of admin work. The only ones exempted from this routine, were the interns and assistants running around and delivering whatever that needed to be delivered to whomever that required whichever. 

Walter used to be an intern, if Lance had remembered correctly, working for the gadget’s lab when he wasn’t holed up in his storage area inventing. The spy vaguely wondered if the brunette missed those days with no worry of impending Paperwork Days as everyone else struggled to meet deadlines.  _ He  _ certainly would love to skip out the boring stuff, but a job is still a job to be done. 

Lance put aside yet another finished report, this one about his infiltration mission in Nice. Funnily enough, he didn’t even remember doing missions in Nice, and they resulting report was a sloppily-written mess of rushed-over details and haphazard retellings. The spy groaned as he felt the sharp tug of a telltale tension headache pulling at his temples, shutting his throbbing eyes to press his palms into them. Blu-light induced headaches were. The worst. 

Especially those that seemed to be caused by computers and admin work. They seem to worsen the effect.

Besides Lance, Walter seemed to share the sentiment as the brunette flung his hands over his head and dug them into his temples.

“Oh,  _ god _ ,” the scientist grumbled, slowly massaging the ache building behind his head. “Is this what you guys have to go through like,  _ every  _ Paperwork Day? This is horrible!”

“Welcome to the club,” Lance replied dryly, blinking hard to silence the throbbing behind his eyes, “We have sandwiches.”

Walter brightened slightly. “We do?”

“No,” came the flat reply. “But we have papercuts.”

The brunette deflated. “Oh.” There was a moment of silence as both agents silently stared at their report-filled screens blankly, before Walter suddenly perked. “I have to take something from the break room, I  _ really  _ do,” he told Lance apologetically while standing up hastily, “I swear it’ll be no longer than five minutes! I swear!” 

Lance rolled his eyes in good nature. “Just hurry up, kid,” he chuckled, making a shooing motion. 

“Five minutes!” Came Walter’s echoey reply as he disappeared through the door. 

The spy shook his head again, and was about to go back to finishing his report when his stomach decided to make itself known in an embarrassingly loud way. Lane winced,suddenly glad that Walter had already left the room and quickly checked the time on his watch, confirming that it was  _ way  _ past his lunch break. He glanced resignatedly at the huge stack of files still occupying his table, wondering how he’d be able to squeeze out time for lunch while  _ still  _ turning in his work on time later on, when he caught sight of a briefcase lying on the table next to his computer. 

_ Maybe I packed something last night _ , the spy thought absently, half of his attention already back onto the cursed report in front of him. The other half was focused on bringing his hand into the bag and clumsily rummaging for anything that might resemble something edible. 

_ And so Robo-Hand, whose real name is actually Killian, or Tristan McFord, took the database. Before he left, however, he had divulged that Unity loves you! _

Lance blinked, coming back to himself as his brain caught up with whatever he had just wrote. His hands stilled as he stared at the last three words of the sentence. Unity... _ loves you _ ? Why would Robo-hand even…

That was when Lance’s brain registered the soft, furry feeling under his hand, and the spy blinked again as he hurriedly pulled his hand away from whatever it was. This resulted in him pulling out said object, and the spy just stared dumbly at the pink...was that a  _ unicorn?!  _ In his hand that was still chirping out ‘Unity loves you!’ cheerily. 

The dark skinned man stared in disbelief at the thing. It looked vaguely familiar, but his tired brain just filed the information away for later. Mental fatigue and a lack of food made the spy shake his head, muttering, “When did I even pack this last night?” He slowly unzipped the bag further, growing increasingly confused as he took out a My Little Pony pencil case, a Bob the Builder water bottle, a jar of  _ pickles _ (Lance wrinkled his nose at the thing. He  _ detested  _ pickles with a passion), and...was that a...a… _ back scratcher _ ? 

“Who touched my stuff?” Lance asked aloud to no one in particular, quickly turning his chair such that he was facing his bag better. With ever growing confusion, the spy threw aside the items he had just unearthed from his bag, before reaching in and pulling out even weirder items that he  _ swore  _ he had seen somewhere before. “These aren’t mine, where did my things go?” He muttered to himself, throwing out a bar of soap from the bag. 

A notebook and a two umbrella sleeves later, Lance finally found something edible in his bag — a sandwich. The spy nearly groaned at the welcomed sight, before widening his eyes at the contents of the sandwich. With hurried fingers, Lance pried open the clingwrap of the sandwich, and gagged at the sight of the bacon, mayonnaise, peas and  _ pickles  _ with a generous amount of lettuce dumped onto it. With a shout of disgust, the spy flung the half-opened sandwich as far away from his as possible. It soared through the air, hitting the door leading into the office with a sad thump before sliding down to the floor.

The door slid open, revealing a disappointed Walter behind it. “I couldn’t find it!” The brunette bemoaned, stepping in. “I couldn’t f- ” Walter froze as his foot kicked something, going perfectly still as he eyed the object on the floor, before whipping his head up in absolute horror to stare at Lance. At the sight of the items thrown all over the office, the brunette balked even more. 

“Lance!” Walter wailed, looking around frantically to focus on something before his gaze returned to the sad sandwich at his feet. “ _ What did you do to my sandwich?!” _

“Sandwich?!” Lance retorted heatedly, gesturing wildly at the offending thing. “That barely even counts as...edible  _ food _ ! What  _ sandwich _ ?!”

“And-and- ” Walter ignored Lance, casting another glance around the room again, throwing his hands empathetically around. “What did you do to my  _ things _ ?!”

“ _ Your  _ things?” Lance spluttered in disbelief. “It’s my bag!”

“No! It’s mine!” Walter wailed. “I even had a smiley face and everything!”

Lance flipped the bag around, and was greeted by the sight of a huge, glittery smiling sticker that was glowing too bright for its own good. The spy blinked, brain stalling as it took in the new turn of events. He opened and closed his mouth dumbly, before finally settling in a generic, intelligent “...oh.”

Walter pouted, folding his arms sullenly. “You ruined  _ my sandwich _ ,” the brunette muttered petulantly, staring sadly at his beloved bacon, mayonnaise, peas and bacon sandwich. “I liked that sandwich.”

“That’s not fit to be called a sandwich,” Lance argued with equal petulance. “It’s...it’s...freakish and unnatural.”

“It’s  _ tacky _ !” Walter defended.

“Unnatural.”

“Tacky.”

“Unnatural.”

“Tacky!”

Both agents glared at each other heatedly, each trying to stare the other down with their opinion as the bacon-mayonnaise-peas-bacon sandwich lay all but forgotten between the two. Eventually, the glare-down became a stare-down, and the stare-down slowly became a ‘try not to laugh’-down before both Walter and Lance finally lost their straight faces and burst into raucous laughter, shaking their heads at the sheer idiocy of the situation. 

“I- I canno-, I-” Walter tried to wheeze between breaths, failing miserable as he ended up giggling at his own failed attempt at speaking. 

“You - _ dude _ , we- just-” Lance was is a similar state, barely able to string words together as the past ten or so minutes finally caught up to his present, and the spy dissolved into fits of laughter again right alongside Walter. “We just-!”

“You- prolly...you thought that was your bag?!” Walter snorted, gesturing to the black briefcase that was now being accentuated with a sparkly foam sticker. “You- you really- you just-”

“I had reasons!” Lance recovered quick enough to argue, before losing it at his own reasoning. “Perhaps I should’ve- realised something was off when I- saw a -  _ pfffft _ \- back-scratcher!” The spy smiled, shaking his head fondly at Walter. “Like,  _ really _ , Willy? A back-scratcher?”

“My new shirt’s itchy!” Walter muttered, drawing out another quick laugh from Lance. He chuckled, drawing in deep breaths as he slowly recovered from his episode. “Oh man,” the brunette grinned brightly, eyes sparkling after the refreshing laugh. “Oh,  _ that _ …”

“Felt good?” Lance grinned, leaning into his seat and looking at the long-dark screen of his computer. “Definitely.”

“My lunch is is still a goner, though,” Walter gestured to the sorry lump of a sandwich with his chin, walking over to Lance and dropping casually into the spy’s lap, leaning comfortably on the handreast of the chair. “What’d we do?”

Lance took a glance at the stack of paperwork, and then at the trinket-strewn room, seemingly analyzing his options before throwing his partner a playful smirk. “What do you say we ditch Paperwork Day and suffer the consequences later for something that’s  _ not  _ your bacon-mayonnaise-peas-bacon sandwich?”

Walter grinned back with equal playfulness. “You called it, partner.”

  
  
  


10.

“Walter, you ready? We need to go!”

“Hang on - just a - moment!”

Lance sighed, leaning against a birchwood cupboard and glancing at the door where Walter was behind. “What’s taking you so long? It’s just a suit, kid.”

“I know!” Came Walter’s muffled reply. “Just gotta - dammit!” There was a sigh, and then a thump and the muted sound of something hitting the floor. 

Lance raised an eyebrow from where he was. “I don’t think I need to emphasise the importance of reaching the agency  _ on time  _ on your first day reporting in as an agent, right?” He called out, walking closer to Walter’s bedroom door. “What’s got you held up anyways?”

The flurry of sounds behind the door stilled for a moment. Lance sighed again. “Kid?”

“Nothing! I’m fine! Just gimme another second!” The brunette yelped, and Lance  _ knew  _ something was wrong. The spy leaned on the wall connected to Walter’s door, and drawled casually, “Well, then, I suppose then I’ll just come in, since everything’s fine.” 

“No!” Walter yelled. “I mean, uh, I’m - dammit - fine, but don’t come in!”

“Really.” Lance deadpanned. 

“Yep! I swear! Scout’s honour!” And suddenly the sound of something being thrown on the floor resounded again, and Lance sighed, shaking his head. “Kid, I’m seriously going to come in.”

“Breach of privacy!” And was that franticness Lance detected in the kid’s voice? The spy pushed himself off the wall, turning to face the door. “It’s not if I ask nicely beforehand,” Lance countered, “I’m coming in in three...two…”

“No!”

Lance opened the door. 

The spy had expected to see many things that could have gotten Walter as riled up as he had, but the sight of a wide-eyed Walter in the middle of the room, a now-wrinkled tie in hand and a standing collar was honestly not one of them. Lance raised an eyebrow in question. 

“This doesn’t look like ‘fine’, kid,” he remarked dryly, gesturing to Walter’s current self. 

“I-” Walter started defensively, before his shoulders slumped and he stared at the ground and the tie in his hand in defeat. “Ican’ttieatie.”

“I can see that,” Lance replied, moving closer to Walter. “Seriously, kid, why’d you not just call if you can’t do it?” The spy took the tie from the brunette and smoothed the tie to his best ability on a nearby chair. Lance stretched it out, and then reached out a hand to guide the latter closer before slinging the accessory over Walter’s suit collar.

“I, well,” Walter began, fidgeting uncomfortably as he sat down on the chair, “I just, well, I can’t -” He shrugged as the spy fixed him with a  _ look _ , and the brunette burst out, “What kind of spy am I if I couldn’t even tie my own tie properly?”

Lance stopped. “Pardon?” He asked, hoping that the kid wasn’t serious.

“I mean, it’s supposed to be something everyone knows, right?” Walter continued anxiously, wringing his hands. “And if I can’t even do something everyone knows, then how can I be, y’know.” He finished lamely, shrugging.

“Let me ask you a question,” Lance said flatly. “Have you ever had  _ any  _ experience with a tie before?”

“Well,  _ no _ , but -”

“Then there’s absolutely no reason as to why you  _ should  _ know how to tie a tie. End of discussion, Wilson.”

“But- ”

“No ‘buts’, Walter. You not knowing how to tie a tie is just like me not knowing  _ anything  _ about anything science related. You understand?” Lance said , crossing the wide end of Walter’s tie over the knot he’d just created. 

“I - yeah.” Walter sighed, fidgeting in his seat even as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Hold  _ still _ , kid,” Lance muttered, tucking the wide tie end through the neck loop and pulling. 

“Sorry,” Walter apologised sheepishly. 

The pair was quiet for a while, Walter looking at the hands that were somehow magically making his tie look like a tie and not a long piece of fabric and Lance concentrating on putting Walter’s tie on just right. 

“And then tuck this beneath the knot, and pull. Done.” Lance straightened the tie, before patting his shoulder and standing up. “All done. He grinned down at Walter, who was staring at the finished tie with reverence and disbelief. “Agent Walter Beckett, reporting for duty.”

“It’s Hydrogen Bond,” Walter corrected without heat. “And, woah.” The brunette finally dropped the length of tie, smiling at Lance. “I just, holy - this is amazing! Thank you, Lance, I- ” Walter cut himself off, opting instead to throw his arms around the latter’s shoulders as Lance just awkwardly patted Walter’s shoulder. 

“Okay, kid,” Lance muttered, when it seemed that Walter wasn’t going to stop the hug anytime soon. “We gotta go, man, we need to report to Joy in- ” the spy chances a look at his watch, before his eyes widened. “Ten minutes! Kid, we gotta go!”

Walter seemed to recover at the urgency in Lance’s tone as he registered what the latter had just said. The brunette’s eyes widened comically as he finally realised the time constraint. “Oh no! I’m gonna be late in my first day of spying!”

“Hurry up, we could maybe still reach on time if we break some traffic laws,” Lance was already almost out of the door, and Walter followed just a few paces behind him, fumbling to strap his mobile lab on securely. And while both agents were only  _ slightly  _ late for their meeting with Joy Jenkins later on, Walter would always remember the calm in his room as Lance helped him fasten his tie long into the future. 

  
  
  


11.

“Lance?”

The spy in question barely acknowledged Walter’s presence as he continued to sift through the mountain of paperwork that he swore was getting  _ bigger  _ instead of smaller. “Don’t you have things to invent, Watson?” He grumbled, shoving another case on drug trafficking aside. Damn interns keep getting detective and spy work mixed up it was really starting to get annoying.

“Well, I  _ did _ ,” Walter shrugged, coming in deeper into Lance’s office and kicking the door shut behind him, “but now I’m  _ finished _ ! I call it the Disco Bomb. It’s like a bomb, but when you drop it, boom, lights!” He waved his hands around for effective, grinning at Lance. “And these lights are specifically tailored to bleach that visual purple stuff from your eyes, so the receiver will literally be temporarily blinded, leaving your opponents disoriented for a few seconds!” Walter dropped into the chair opposite of Lance, grinning excitedly. “And the best thing is that it  _ only  _ affects that pigment, and leaves your retina completely intact and unharmed, so no one will suffer from the risk of future blindness or anything! You have  _ no _ idea how long it took to tailor the lights, it was  _ such _ a headache.” Walter finished, flopping dramatically backwards into the chair rest. 

“I’m sure it was,” Lance replied, shaking his head with a small smile. Say whatever you want about Walter, but that kid is seriously passionate during his bouts of invention-ramble, and just  _ a little  _ bit engaging with his excitable gestures and tone. And  _ no _ , Kappel, he was  _ not  _ endeared by Walter. Lance turned to grab another case file, studying the article about a sabotage mission rather intently. “Are you here just to yap about your Disco Bomb, or do you actually have a reason to be here?”

“Yeah, actually. I have the most  _ valid  _ reason to be here.” Walter pushed himself up from where he was leaning into the leather chair. “You know the pigerum?”

Lance blinked. “...Excuse me?”

“Pigerum! Like, pigeon, and serum, but combined together. Pigerum!”

The spy stared at Walter in disbelief. “Boy, you need like,  _ serious  _ help.  _ Pigerum _ ? There are probably ten  _ trillion _ names you can call this thing, and you choose  _ pigerum _ ?”

Walter shrugged. “Weeell, it was either that or Sergeon, which sounded too alike to ‘Surgeon’, so.”

“Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, give it a new name entirely?”

“Hey! It’s cool!” Walter protested. “It actually sounds like ‘Piger-rum’, and then on field we’d be like,” The brunette cleared his throat, deepening it dramatically, “‘Hey, Walter, pass the Piger-rum please?’ And I’d be like, ‘Sure! Here’s your rum!’ And the enemy’d have no idea what’s going on! It’s smart!”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “First of all, I do  _ not  _ sound like that,” The spy objected, “And secondly, no. I refuse to utter something that ridiculous in front of  _ anyone _ , let alone our own enemies.”

“It’s not ridiculous, it’s cool!”

“No.”

Walter groaned. “Let’s just agree to disagree. Anyway.  _ Pigerum _ . I’ve been improving it in my spare time, and guess what! I’ve perfected it!”

Lance tilted his head, sabotage mission all but forgotten from his mind. “Did you now?”

“Yep! And guess what!”

Lance lifted an eyebrow. “What.”

“ _ They approve of it! _ ” Walter could barely contain his excitement in his haste to get the news out, and the brunette almost tripped on his own laces trying to get the approval paper out of his bag. “In their exact words, they said ‘Good job, Beckett, this is definitely the most unique serum we’ve ever seen to-date. Keep working on it and perhaps we’d be seeing an elephant on field next time’! They actually liked it!” Walter paced the carpeted floor with uncontainable joy. “Do you know what it means?? Do you?!”

The other spy chuckled at the kid’s euphoria, leaning into his own chair to ask, “And what does this mean?”

“I get permission to develop it! Make it into either something better, or into a whole new thing, and I’ll get all the resources I need!” Walter whispered eagerly, eyes bright as he plopped onto the desk next to Lance’s chair. “And it means we get to use it on field! Officially!  _ As a legalised weapon of self defence _ ! It’s literally my dream come true ever since I started out in the agency!”

Walter looked so undeniably proud and happy about himself in that moment, that Lance just smiled indulgently, reaching out to pat Walter on the shoulder gently. The spy was rewarded with the brunette happily throwing himself onto him in a tight hug, and Lance just laughed, switching tact to pat Walter on the back instead.

“Good job, kid,” Lance congratulated softly, meaning every word. “You truly deserve it.” And Walter did. The kid had such a big brain and heart in him, it’s a wonder they hadn’t burst out yet, and his gadgets, filled with a sincere duty from their creator to  _ protect  _ definitely deserved all the attention that they got, and more. Lance would never say it, but at that moment, he truly felt proud of Walter. 

“I feel like I could jump off the building as a human and float into space,” The brunette murmured softly from Lance’s shoulder. “And then breakdance on an asteroid.”

“And die from asphyxiation or an exploding head.” Lance replied dryly, chuckling as he slowly disentangled himself from Walter’s lanky arms. “I’d hate to see you go like that. Stick to dancing on Earth for now.”

Walter grinned, leaning against the desk to stare at the paper again with utmost reverence, face still flushed from his previous excitement high. There was a comfortable beat of silence as both partners were lost in their own thoughts, before Walter drew out curiously, “What if I actually try this out with elephant DNA? I could call it Elepha-rum.”

Lance groaned at the hypothetical name. “No. That’s a horrible idea.”

Walter smiled. “Serum-phant?”

“Worse.”

“Maybe I can try shark DNA! And call it Se-hark!”

“I definitely stand by what I say when I said you need serious medicine.”

12.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Lance rolled his shoulders, staring at the intricate iron gates in front of them, before dropping his gaze down to the box in his hands. The deceivingly  _ normal  _ box that contained the spy drone that they needed to overhear everything about the plans of the lady living in the house. The spy smirked, a plan already forming in his head.

“Simple,” Lance replied, “We break in through the front gates. Boom.”

Walter frowned thoughtfully, staring at the box in Lance’s hands. “I don’t know…” the brunette muttered lowly, “Seems a little...unneeded, don’t you think? How about…” Walter trailed off, wondering how they could deliver the box without suspicion, before an idea struck him. The scientist’s eyes brightened. “How about we dress up like pizza delivery guys delivering pizza??”

Lance recoiled. “What?”

“You heard me!” Walter grinned, already envisioning the scene. “We’ll just find some shirts, put a Dominoes sign on the box, and pretend we’re delivering pizza! It’s the perfect plan!” The brunette exclaimed, eyes sparkling. “No one can resist pizza!”

Lance mulled over the suggestion, frowning. “But my idea has  _ pizzaz _ ,” the spy argued. “Don’t you wanna make an entrance, kid?”

Walter pouted. “But...my idea has pizza! We could even eat pizza afterwards!”

Lance shook his head, folding his arms insistently. “I say we go with pizzazz.”

Walter glared. “Pizza.” He insisted stubbornly.

“Pizzazz.” Came the equally-insistent reply.

“Pizza.”

“Pizzazz!”

“Pizza!”

“Pizzazz!”

“Are you two...okay?” Marcy asked over the comms.

“NO!” Both agents yelled simultaneously, glaring heatedly at each other. 

In the communications room back at the agency, Marcy winced at the volume of the reply. “Oookay then,” the supervisor muttered, already starting to offline communication units. “I’ll just...stay out of this one…” 

The unit flicked off with a last ‘Pizza!’.

“If we go with pizzazz, we save time,” Lance argued. 

“But  _ pizza!”  _ Walter insisted defiantly, glaring at Lance. “We can say that we have  _ exotic  _ pizzas for them! Like, like, peas and mayonnaise pizza! Or apple slices with tomato! They’ll be  _ irresistible _ .”

Lance mentally gagged at the examples Walter had just listed. “Boy,” the spy growled lowly, glaring at Walter in disgust, “If you ever mention  _ peas and mayonnaise  _ in the same sentence again, I will  _ end  _ you. I’m not even joking.”

Walter winced, shrugging. “Maybe that’s a little  _ too  _ exotic,” The brunette conceded. “But! I stand by my point! Exotic pizzas! It’ll be ah-mazing! Exotic pizzas!” He waved his hands around excitedly, grinning. 

The spy shook his head. “Pizazz is much more efficient,” He countered. “Break in, put box, leave. Simple.”

Walter pouted. “But pizza!” He shouted dramatically, frowning. “Yam and cheese pizza!”

“That’s disgusting, Walter.”

“It actually isn’t,” The brunette replied hotly. “My point is-”

“ _ Excuse me, _ is there a problem here?”

Both spies froze at the new voice that butted into their heated discussion. They slowly turned around, and, truly enough, a third person was standing behind the gate, her arms folded across her chest as she scowled at both spies. “People are trying to  _ sleep _ , you know?”

“We have pizzas!” Walter burst out before he could stop himself, and Lance mentally winced at the predicament the brunette just placed them in. When they get out of this, the spy was going to  _ strangle _ Walter. “Yep,” the brunette smiled, “amazing...pizzas…”

The lady raised one eyebrow. “...Pizzas.” She repeated flatly, coming out further from the door. “You yell outside someone’s door at bloody four in the morning, to sell... _ pizza _ .”

“Uh uh,” Walter shook his head empathetically. “Not just ordinary pizza,  _ exotic  _ pizza!” He grinned, gesturing wildly to the box still in Lance’s hands. “Amazing...delicious... _ silky _ ...exotic pizzas!”

The eyebrow went higher. “Exotic pizzas.” The lady echoed incredulously. “That’s...wonderful.” Lance didn’t know whether she was really buying into the fib, or if she was just too done with the random kid trying to sell her pizza at four in the morning and trying to chase them away. The spy had his money on the latter.

“Yep,” Lance cut in hurriedly, hoping to somewhat try to salvage the situation. The spy drone had to be delivered. “Extremely, delicious, exotic pizza. Like, pineapples-kinda quality pizza.”

“Blueberry pizza!” Walter butted in, crossing his arms. “It’s rare!”

The lady wrinkled her nose. “ _ Blueberry _ ?”

“Yep, it’s tastes better than it sounds, trust me!” Walter grinned. “We even have an assortment of fruity pizza flavours! Grapes...banana...Durian!” The brunette’s eyes suddenly widened. “Durian pizza!” 

Lance’s own eyes widened as he caught onto what Walter was trying to do. The spy’s mind flashed to the lady’s profile Walter made him read before they had left. She did indeed like durians. “We have the best durian pizza in town, ma’am,” The spy supplied on, mind struggling to explain the...uniqueness...of the spiky tropical fruit. “All mushy, and...creamy, and soft...and...strong…”

“Flavourful!” Walter nodded fervently, smiling innocently. “Extremely, absolutely flavourful, with flavourful  _ durian  _ toppings, and the most flavourful durian-infused crusty bread and flavourful-”

“Move  _ away  _ from flavourful,” Lance hissed, strained smile still in place. 

Walter laughed awkwardly, inwardly wincing. “And...ummm…”

“Do you mean it? The durian?” The lady suddenly demanded.

“Yes,” Lance cut in before Walter said anything. “Yes! We even...hand picked it! From Malaysia! And made it ourselves! And...selling it ourselves.”

The lady’s face was blank.

There was an uncomfortable pause as both impromptu salesmen tried to think of something else to say, vaguely regretting ever agreeing to take up this mission. Walter cleared his throat, preparing to say something else when the lady’s blank face broke into an unexpected grin, shaking her head. 

“Well,” she said brightly, “If you guys had just wanted to sell durian pizza in the first place, why didn’t you say so? I know it gets hard trying to convince others that durian is a wonderfully underrated exotic fruit,” She sighed. “I love durian! I’ll take two!”

For a moment, Walter and Lance just stared at each other incredulously, unable to believe that the lady had just bought into their horribly woven lie. Lance awkwardly handed the box over. “Here,” he muttered, “Have the whole box. For, um. Free.” 

Both spies winced at the delighted look on the lady’s face, and instantly felt horrible for making her believe their pizza story. The lady took the box, and never wondered why the two weirdest salespeople in history just instantly escaped the moment the box was in her hands, with the brown-haired one yelling back, “Don't, um, open the box until two days later! The durian will...be oxidised! Yep! Goodbye!”

And, after the whole ordeal was over and her crimes had been exposed, the lady never had to know that the mysterious people who sent her a box of durian pizza two days before her trial had contributed in exposing her misdoings. After all, some things were better left to the unspeakable powers of pizza. 

  
  


  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why would you look at this. I’m not dead. Just...revived from a long hiatus. I’m so sorry about leaving this fic unattended for so long, I don’t really have many excuses other than writer’s block. But! I have managed to overcome it and actually wrote something. And, I can safely say that I’m probably not going to take anymore hiatuses like this. Irregular updates, maybe, but nothing too long. Also, I’d love to thank everyone who has supported this fic, be it through commenting or kudos. You guys are amazing and I would not have been able to come out of hiatus if it wasn’t because of y’all.

13.

“Theeeeeeeere’s...hydrogen, then helium, then lithium, beryllium…”

Lance grimaced into his cup as the overly-bright voice of one Walter Beckett cut into the hazy morning atmosphere of the kitchen. The spy glared at Walter over the time of his cup, wondering how the hell somebody could be so cheerful at 6.30 in the bloody morning. 

“Walter,” Lance began with as much annoyance as his tired brain would allow, placing his mug down with deliberate calm, “It’s 6.30. In the morning.”

“...oxygen so you can breathe, and flou- huh, what?” Walter cut himself off as he swivelled his head from where he was rummaging through an overhead cabinet. “Oh, morning Lance!” The brunette chirped brightly, oblivious to the former’s lethargy. “You like it? I discovered it on YouTube last night! Like, I already know the elements of the periodic table, but this song is so catchy, and I’m loving it! In fact, it actually helped me recap my elements pretty well!”

Lance rolled his eyes, picking his mug up to take another swig of his drink. Trust Walter to find some peppy song about the bloody  _ periodic table  _ of all things on YouTube and sing it loudly in the morning when everyone just wanted to curl up in bed and forget work existed. He translated his annoyance into a look, and gave Walter a deadpan stare. 

The latter just grinned brightly, resuming his cheerful hum of the song as he continued digging through the cabinet for god-knows-what. There was a moment of silence as Lance sipped his drink, quietly listening to Walter sing about how coins were made of nickel and how zirconium came after yttrium. It was...peaceful, and Lance found that he actually  _ liked  _ the calm. 

It almost made the spy like his early mornings. Almost. 

“Hey, did you know something?” Walter began after some time, effectively cutting through the comfortable quiet that Lance had been savouring. 

The spy sighed softly, glancing at Walter from the rim of his cup. “This better be good, kid, or I’m going to leave you on cleaning Jeff’s birdhouse duty for  _ two weeks _ .”

Walter frowned. It was common knowledge that Jeff and Crazy Eyes, like any other wild pigeon, loved to poop everywhere, at any given time. Both Walter and Lance managed to get the two of them to poop into a birdhouse, with the downside of clearing it up almost everyday. “Come on, Lance,” the brunette pouted, crossing his arms and leaning against the kitchen counter, “don’t be  _ sodium  _ butthurt.”

Lance’s brain stalled as he processed whatever Walter had just said. The spy dared not believe it, and wished whatever he heard to be just a figment of his imagination. “Walter,” the spy began slowly, deliberately, “Tell me you did not just say what I thought you did.” 

Walter blinked innocently. “What?” He asked, “You made it sound as if I wanted to make puns. I mean I did, but  _ na _ .”

Lance’s left eye twitched. “You know what you did.”

“Hey, it's not my fault that all the good chemistry puns  _ argon _ , right?” Walter retorted cheekily, grinning at Lance and uncrossing his arms to plant them in his hips instead. 

The spy glared at Walter. It was still too early in the day for this. 

“Wenter?” The spy drew out slowly, deliberately. 

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” And Lance fixed his charge with the blankest spy look he could plaster onto his face, and held up the nearest weapon he could find. A spoon. “Or else.”

Walter wrinkled his nose. “Are you threatening me...with a  _ spoon _ ?”

The brunette’s pained ‘OW!’ reverberated through the house for a whole minute afterwards.

  
  
  


14.

“Sir? You’re up next.”

Lance nodded politely to the sentry as the latter disappeared through the doors leading into the visiting room. The spy turned to Walter seated next to him. “I, in my thirty five years of existence, cannot fathom why the agency couldn’t send someone else to do this,” he grumbled, glaring at the closed doors. “I mean, c’mon! That guy tried to kill you on numerous occasions! Jenkins could have at least sent Marcy with me, or Ears, Eyes...anyone!”

Walter let out a sigh, leaning into the seat he was seated upon. “I know.”

“And he was about to  _ melt your face off _ !”

“I know.” Walter said again, voice carefully neutral as he stared intently at the door.

Lance let out a defeated sigh and hesitantly set a hand onto Walter’s shoulder, to which the brunette gratefully leant into. “I just hope you’re up for this, kid,” the spy muttered. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know. I can deal with him alone.”

“That...That’s fine,” Walter sighed, glancing towards Lance as he finally tore his gaze away from the door. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the lookout.”

“If you’re sure.” Lance replied, and Walter threw a small smile at the spy, as the guard came back into the holding room.

“Mr McFord will see you now.”

Lance nodded to the guard again, and looked down at his charge. “You ready?”

Walter took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” the young adult muttered in determination, and stood up. “Lead the way.”

The first thing Lance noticed upon entering the room were the lack of restraints around Robo-Hand. Or should he say, Plastic Hand. The former terrorist was seated in a chair in the room, behind a metal table, and his once-deadly metal prosthetic arm had been replaced with a normal, modern prosthetic. McFord’s face was carefully blank as he regarded his (former enemies? Lance did not know what to think of him) visitors. 

“The designated timing you have is an hour,” The guard stated boredly. “I’ll be outside. And,” He spared at glance at Tristan, “If you try  _ anything _ funny, just know that the defence system in this room will take you out faster than you can say  _ I’ll throw you off a building _ . Crystal?”

Robo-  _ Killian _ spared the guard a look. 

“Good.” And with a thud, the guard departed, leaving the two agents with their nemesis.

Lance and Walter carefully took a seat opposite the man. There was a tense, awkward moment as the three just...looked at each other without knowing what to say, and Lance felt unease prickling at the back of his neck as he stared resolutely at his enemy. Next to him, Walter was fidgeting minutely, and the gentle  _ tap, tap, tap  _ the brunette’s fingers were making against the chair’s metal handles gave away his discomfort at being in such close proximity to the person who caused Lance and himself so much trouble and uncertainty. The silence dragged on, and the spy wondered yet again what had possessed Director Jenkins to want to actively seek reforms for this guy. 

Lance cleared his throat, The sound contrasted sharply against the quiet of the room.

“...So,” he began, mentally cringing at the situation at hand. “Uh, hi. How’s prison treating you?”

Killian’s eye twitched, and Lance felt Walter elbow him sharply in the ribs. 

_ “What are you  _ doing _?!”  _ The brunette spluttered quietly, looking at the spy. 

_ “I’m trying to start a conversation!”  _ Lance hissed back, eyes darting quickly to Killian before drawing them away.  _ “It’s hard! What do you even say to someone who caused you great trouble?!” _

_ “Let me try.”  _ Walter took a deep breath. “Hi!” The young adult’s grin was somewhat strained as he looked at Killian. “Um. Yeah. I…We haven’t seen each other since...um...” The brunette faltered, and glanced at Lance for help. 

“Since you swiped our agency’s invention, framed me, almost killed my buddy Walter over there and a whole bunch of other people and then dropped down from the sky!” Lance drew out before he had the chance to stop himself. The spy cringed again, cursing his sudden lack of brain and mouth filter. “And now you’re here, looking like you want to do the exact same things again. It’s nice to see you!” He continued. 

Walter winced. Lance braced himself for Killian’s inevitable onslaught of fury at his words. 

It never came.

“Hmph.” Killian let out a dispassionate grunt as he continued to stare impassively at Lance and Walter.

Both stared incredulously at each other.

“You’re...not gonna blow up or something?” Walter ventured hesitantly.

“What for?” Killian replies neutrally. “I don’t have anything to prove.” And that was the most words Lance had ever heard the man utter that was not along the lines of ‘I’m going to make you and everyone else pay for what they did to me’.

“I-uh...right.” Lance replied eloquently. “So...do you know Director Jenkins?”

No reply.

“Yeah, well, she uh...wanted to make amends,” Lance shrugged awkwardly, feeling the crushing pressure of what he did roil in his chest, “For...what I...did...in…” The spy felt the words choking him and winced as Killian’s eyes flicked up to stare coldly at him, “Kyrgyzstan.”

Something flashed in the latter’s eyes as he regarded Lance coolly. “Amend, you say,” Killian drew out flatly, fixing Lance with a look. “And how do you suppose your little agency would do that?” The look hardened minutely as he narrowed his eyes at the spy. “Help me ‘cope with the past’? Or perhaps... _ recruit  _ me as one of you glorified murderers, maybe? Join you and your merry squad of ‘spies’ as you run around and save the world?”

The silence that ensued afterwards was crushing, tense and thick. Lance held the former terrorist’s gaze, uncomfortably reminded  _ yet again  _ of his actions of the past. 

“...You’re actually not that far off,” Walter offered hesitantly when it was clear that no one was going to speak for a while. “Director Joy did mention an interest to recruit you into the agency a while ago, if you would have it.”

Walter’s words hung in the silence (Why was there so much  _ silence _ , Lance thought absently, it makes everything so much more uneasy than it already is) for a moment, and then Killian barked out a sharp laugh, shaking his head and glaring at both agents in disbelief.

“And why would I have an interest in working for you?” The former terrorist asked incredulously with borderline anger. “Is this some sort of  _ joke _ ?! They condoned your behaviour in Kyrgyzstan,” Killian jabbed an accusatory finger in Lance’s direction, “Leading to  _ you killing and severely injuring my men _ which cost me  _ everything _ . Why would I ever  _ help  _ you?”

Lance took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he met Killian’s aggravated gaze. “...The agency never condoned my actions.” He said.

There was a pause. Killian narrowed his eyes at Lance. “Excuse me?”

“H.T.U.V never authorised my actions taken in Kyrgyzstan.” Lance continued, looking steadily at Killian. “ _ I  _ never realised the damage I caused there until I finished. I was under orders to sabotage your terrorist encampment, bring back intelligence and nothing more. Those were the agency’s instructions for me.”

Killian glared at the spy again. “Then, pray tell,” he drawled slowly, “Why did you use so many hand grenades and flamethrowers that day until every single last man was destroyed, or severely burnt? I’d love to hear your excuse.”

“I-” Lance opened his mouth, and sighed. “I don’t have an excuse. The only thing I  _ can  _ come up with is that I was arrogant. Thought I knew better than the Director.” The spy shrugged. “Didn’t know  _ why  _ we couldn’t just neutralise the threat when we had a chance instead of just gathering intelligence and laying low.” He looked at Killian again. “Look, this isn’t something to get you to magically forgive me for what I did to you-” he ignored the latter’s derisive scoff, “I’m just saying, don’t blame the agency. They did not want Kyrgyzstan to happen.”

“That’s not going to bring my crew back,” Killian growled, glaring at Lance. “It does not change the fact that you killed them. That you took something close to me.”

“And I know that!” Lance replied, frustration beginning to show on his face. “I’ve always regretted my actions in Kyrgyzstan. But it also does not change the fact that you were a patented terrorist dead set on putting the world in danger, McFord,” he snapped. “I’ll readily admit to my faults. But remember that you were a terrorist as well. The agency did nothing wrong in sending in spies to take you down. You are dangerous people who need to be neutralised. I neutralised you the wrong way, and for that, I am sorry.”

There was another silence as Killian processed what Lance said. Walter broke it hesitantly. 

“...if it’s any comfort, we have a strict policy of minimal injuries to enemies in the spy code of honour now,” the brunette offered, glancing at Killian. “We don’t ever want a repeat of anyone else suffering from unintended fallouts such as Kyrgyzstan ever again, y’know? It’s just lots and lots of bloodshed and anger when we could have just resolved things peacefully or smartly.”

“And that’s what we want to do,” Lance continued, nodding at Walter. “And it seems fitting that you have a part in it too.”

“And why is that?” Killian snapped, even as his posture loosened up just a little. 

“Well, for one, it helps you move on from Kyrgyzstan,” Walter said, quickly moving onto his reason before the former terrorist misinterpreted his meaning, “As in, it will help you rest easy, knowing that you’ve prevented lots and lots of other people from befalling the same fate as your crew did. To capture dangerous people, but also while making sure that they’re alive and injured only if needed. But also because it’s the right thing to do.”

He ignored Killian’s incredulous stare. “It’s true! I mean,  _ sure  _ you tried to kill Lance and I a couple times, tried to kill the agency one time and threatened lives here and there, but hey, I turned Lance into a bird with untested chemicals and Lance used to be a pretty violent spy! Yet here we all are! All I’m saying, is that this is a great second chance to show that you are more than just a terrorist!” The brunette gave Killian a sight grin. “Who knows, you might even like it here.”

“But why would I-” Killian began to snap, only to be cut off by Walter again. 

“And also, also! The people at the agency are actually really nice! I’m sure they’ll accept you eventually. And the Director extended this olive branch personally!”

“...You know,” Lance offered slowly, glancing at Killian, “At least give the agency a chance. Or give Walter a chance. It’s the least you could do after he saved you from falling to your death when you almost killed him. Twice.

The former terrorist glared at both occupants in the room, before sighing in aggravation. “I’m not getting out until I say yes, I presume?” 

Walter shook his head. 

“Unfortunately, yes.” Lance agreed. 

“...then fine.” Killian muttered. “I  _ accept  _ your director’s proposal.” He resolutely ignored Walter’s grin and fixated his stare on Lance. “But that does not mean I forgive you for what you have done,” he snapped at the spy. 

Lance nodded. “I expect nothing less. But, no killing each other?”

There was an exceptionally long silence before Killian finally nodded. “No killing.”

“Great!” Lance beamed, sticking out his hand for the former terrorist to shake. “Truce? Truce. Good job Walter.” The spy grinned at the brunette. “Now this has been fun and all, but let’s leave him to his brooding and report back to the Director now.” He turned to give Killian a look before making his way to the exit. 

“Walter.”

Both agents stopped as they turned in their heel to look at the person who willingly called out Walter’s name.

“Uh, yeah?” The brunette tilted his head in askance.

“Thank you for not letting me fall to my death.” Killian said simply. “I suppose I owe you for that.”

“I-you’re welcome!” The brunette positively  _ beamed  _ at Killian’s thanks. “Just try not to do it again!” 

Killian rolled his eyes at the young adult’s enthusiasm. Lance just smirked, and turned back to give Killian an impeccable nod of understanding. 

Killian gave a small nod of his own. Maybe this will work out after all. 

  
  


15.

“Walter?”

The sound of a concerned tone barely did anything to penetrate the haze of terror the scientist in question was experiencing at the moment. Flashes of gravity and helpless resignation raged through his mind’s eye as a cruel smirk gazed at him impassively from above. 

“Walter. Are you good?” And the concerned tone was closer now, but the brunette refused to lift his head from the comfort of his blankets as he laid, shivering on the bed as his mind dredged up the remaining, phantom heat of white hot laser beams meant to carve his face open, and of the crushing terror he felt, suffocating underwater, moments before his subconscious managed to sluggishly activate his inflatable hug as he drowned, flailed, choking lungfuls of saltwater through his mouth and nose and dying, dying, dying-

“Walter.” The concern was gone. The voice- it was a voice, not an underwater echo, or screaming his name in worry or defeat. The voice was next to him, and was soft, gentler than Walter had ever expected it to be. He took comfort in the calming, deep resonance of it. Still, however, the brunette barely acknowledged it, face still buried between layers of blankets and his pillow. His lungs were still burning and his head throbbing. 

A hand laid on his shoulder, and Walter made a muffled sound of protest as his comforter was pried away with gentle but firm hands, bringing him face to face with Lance who was definitely not his father figure or anything. The older man looked him over in thinly-veiled worry.

“Walter, are you okay?” The spy asked, and had a moment to look at Walter’s fear-stricken face before he was suddenly engulfed with an armful of brunette scientist who desperately clung to Lance, shivering and soaking up every bit of comfort the spy gave off.

Lance blinked for a moment, surprised, before allowing his arms to drop over Walter’s lanky frame and slowly, slowly rubbed soothing circles along the young adult’s shoulders, murmuring soft reassurances to Walter and making sure to be as relaxed as possible to allow Walter to relax. As he did so, Lance allowed himself to think of just how the whole debacle with Killian managed to traumatise Walter. What with the near-death experiences, the worry of not living to see another day, on the run from authorities just to help Lance Sterling…the spy was once again reminded by just how selfless Walter was, and of his initial guilt of dragging the brunette into the whole mess in the first place. 

“Are you okay?” Lance murmured after what felt like hours but might have only been slightly less than four minutes. 

Walter glanced up from where his head had been buried in Lance’s neck, taking in a shaky breath before nodding minutely. 

“Do you...want to talk about it?” The spy ventured a little, watching as the brunette’s face seemed to twist into a grimace. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Walter nodded again, and resumed his former position of hugging his surrogate father figure. Lance could not help but to chuckle softly, shaking his head a little. Looks like he would be spending the night in Walter’s room. 

Lance couldn't bring himself to care about sleeping propped up against the headboard. 

  
  
  


16.

“Stay close, kid, and stay  _ hidden _ .”

Lane emphasised the last bit firmly, glaring down at Walter to send the message across that  _ yes _ , their opponent was dangerous, and  _ yes,  _ he needed to tread carefully without his usual Walter fashion. “This ‘Time Master’ is dangerous, and you need to  _ be vigilant _ .” 

“Yes, Lance, I know,” Walter sighed for what felt like the millionth time in fifteen minutes. The brunette wasn’t stupid — he  _ knew  _ the risks! “And besides,” Walter grinned, patting his trusty mobile lab backpack, “I have backup.”

“I know,” Lance replied, rolling his eyes as he poked his head out of the shadows, “Just  _ be careful _ , okay?”

Walter nodded firmly. “I promise.”

Lance reciprocated the gesture. After a moment, the spy nimbly snuck out of the shadows, carrying soft steps over to where the alleged perpetrator was supposed to be holed up in. Walter slowly followed behind, trying his best to make sure to put his spy training to the test and feel for any danger that might spring up upon him. The brunette felt as though his heart would burst from how hard it was pumping frantically in his chest every moment he spent, exposed under the glinting moonlight that bathed the Wales countryside a pale silver. 

“ _ Are you in position? _ ” Lance’s voice crackled through the intercom. Walter nodded, and swallowed as he took in the imposing metal warehouse that looked down upon the two agents. Time Master was behind those doors. Months of intelligence retrieval, spying on his accomplices, infiltrating possible groups connected to this one man, and they were about to see if it paid off. 

“ _ Affirmative. _ ” Walter whispered. “ _ Let’s get him _ .”

The brunette readied his multi-pen and gripped his backpack straps tightly. With bated breath and well concealed within the shadows, Walter watched as Lance cautiously approached the looming warehouse...and with a powerful kick, sent the warehouse doors flying open. 

The multi-pen was immediately brandished against the open door from where Walter hid behind his tree. Lance pulled out his handgun and both agents squinted into the dreary gloom behind the warehouse entrance. Walter shivered as the cold gusts blew against his frame. 

“ _ Let’s go _ .” 

With that command, Walter slipped out from the protection of his tree. Carefully, he found his way to Lance’s side and they entered into the darkness of the warehouse. Walter shivered again at the draft in the building. The only illumination source was the multi-pen’s glowing tip. 

_ Drip _ .

The brunette tensed, ears picking up the distinct dripping of water somewhere nearby. His steps faltered.

“Move it, Wilbur,” Lance hissed as softly as he could, his voice barely echoing around the place. “We can’t stay in one place for too long.”

Walter nodded once and they continued on. Twice he heard a mouse scamper somewhere. Once he heard scratching. The creak of the structure, the howling of wind. His breath felt too loud as he exhaled. The silence gave him goosebumps.

He was itching to leave this place. 

In front of him, Lance suddenly tensed. The taller spy straightened, and glanced around suspiciously. Walter felt himself go rigid. They looked around together, as far the proximity as the multi-pen’s glowing too would allow, before Lance relaxed. Minutely. 

“It’s probably nothing. Let’s carry on.”

Walter nodded, and they were off once again, walking blindly in the unfamiliar setting. Walter was positive he would burst from nervous energy if this kept up. 

They walked a few more paces and with a creak of the floorboard, everything changed. Nothing could be seen. Walter felt himself struggling. He lashed out blindly in the dark and there was a heavy impact over his eye. He kicked out. His heart pulsated wildly in his ear. His arms struggled. 

There was a cold glint of metal against his temple. 

Walter froze. The lights came on. 

A slow clapping resounded from one of the hallways as Walter’s vision slowly blurred back into motion. Lance has his handgun cocked, aimed towards who was presumedly his own hostage. The brunette tried to struggle, and only yielded the result of the gun barrel pressing deeper into his temple, and the arm around him to tighten painfully. 

“Well. Well. Well.” From the depths of the shadows, a silhouette of a person drawled lazily, eyeing the situation before him. “The  _ great  _ Lance Sterling, and his little accomplice. Care for an...introduction?”

“Usually I accept people calling me great,” Lance bit out tersely, gun and eyes still trained onto Time Master’s lackey holding Walter in place, “But you make it an insult, so I’m not interested.”

The Time Master let out a sharp chuckle. “Sarcastic, are we?” He asked smoothly. “How brave, for someone who’s about to die.”

Walter’s renewed his struggling at the dreaded word. A menacing shove of the barrel made him freeze.

“That’s rich, for someone giving cryptic answers while hidden in shadows,” Lance replied. “Tell your goon to stand down.”

The resulting laughter was almost full-blown this time. The silhouette of the Time Master was shaking his head, still leaning casually against the doorframe, with shadows engulfing his being. “Oh?” He purred smoothly, gazing impassively at the hostage situation. “Or else, what?”

Lance gritted his teeth, glaring at the masked threat in front of him, his own stance never wavering as he stared at Walter’s terrified face. He didn’t answer. 

The Time Master’s voice was silky this time. Venomous, like a spider before it injected its venom into its victim’s body. “I ask again, Sterling,” he drew out slowly, “Or else, what?”

“I’ll-” the spy’s brows knitted in frustration at the helplessness of the situation. “I will-”

Lance didn’t get to finish his sentence. 

The Time Master chuckled yet again, lazily and carelessly. “I thought so,” he said, and rapped his knuckles against the doorframe he was leaning on, his next words thrown as nonchalantly as one would while describing the weather. 

“Kill him.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! I wonder what happened next~
> 
> Writing Killian was surprisingly fun. I tried my best to capture elements of his personality that's not 'I'm about to end every man's career with an M95 drone right now', and I can't wait to include him in future drabbles!
> 
> As a side note, I have been thinking as of late whether to start a request system to open myself up for more ideas to write, and to fulfill the dream of having more Walter and Lance content. If you guys want to, I’ll probably start it next chapter, given as I have a few more ideas up my sleeve. What do you say? 
> 
> For now though, I’ll end off here. Once again thank you guys for your support!


End file.
